I’m remembering to remember that I’m a human being, imperfectly perfect.
I’m remembering to remember that yogis are human beings, imperfectly perfect, and there’s a place and time between down dogs for chocolate croissants, couch slouching and mild cursing.
I’m remembering to remember that every teacher is also a student, and we teach what we know, but there’s so much more we don’t know, and that makes teaching both humbling and terrifying.
I’m remembering to remember that I’m a human being, prone to mistake, excusably imperfect and so for every act of greed or lust, mishandled scandal, selfish fishing for one’s own desires and any other act of horrible evil, I forgive the world and myself, for we do our best at being human, for the better and the worse.
I’m remembering to remember we’re only human beings for so long, why strive for perfection when the opportunity to be imperfect only comes so often. The joy of this human experience is that nothing ultimately matters and which is why I can abruptly end this sentence here and now, imperfectly. iwrhojijwhr[kqelPVQ: